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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239442">the world doesn't want us, but the space we have carved for ourselves is big enough to survive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggieyama/pseuds/froggieyama'>froggieyama</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Once), Alternate Universe - Future, Arcades, Breakfast, Clubbing, Cyberpunk, First Dates, Flashbacks, Flirting, Gangs, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, I suck at writing summaries, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Minor Injuries, Organized Crime, Rebellion, Skateboarding, Smoking, Swearing, Tokyo (City)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:00:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggieyama/pseuds/froggieyama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>when tsukishima joined the vermin, a local gang, for the pretty boy he saw working in recruitment, he never knew just how far down the rabbit hole he'd fall</p><p>written for the haikyuu minibang</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Tsukishima Kei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the world doesn't want us, but the space we have carved for ourselves is big enough to survive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei breathes in a deep breath of smoke, feeling it settle in his lungs before he forces it out of his nose. Hinata pulls the box away from his lips and pulls it towards his own, humming as he puffs out clouds that fill the foggy air of the club.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music - loud, something from at least a century ago - thrums through his nerves and rattles his bones. Something about this music makes everything feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He's got Akaashi and Hinata in his lap - one under each arm - and the air surrounding them has quickly become thicker and thicker with smoke and attraction. It's stifling hot in the club that they're in, but Tsukishima's jacket is remaining firmly on Hinata's body despite the lack of really anything else underneath it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji says something, but Tsukishima's not really listening. He looks down at him, reading his lips as they flicker different colours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Want to dance?" he asks again. He doesn't need to ask a third time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima presses a kiss to Hinata's head before prying his arm out from behind him. Hinata pouts when they break contact but quickly finds eye candy in the form of some girl across the club from them, leaning over the bar and exchanging pleasantries with the bartender.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji's hand is a little sweaty in his own, but its grip is tight as its owner drags them both closer to the speakers, where bodies have lost individuality. They find themselves pressed back to chest - Keiji fits well against Tsukishima - and swaying to the music. They're both high off all sorts of hormones - the success of the earlier raid, the alcohol, the attraction - and it feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Frequently they find themselves in the same position, it’s almost become a tradition. After every successful raid, they all go to the same club and it always ends with </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima can't complain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fabric of Keiji's Vermin jumper rubs against his chest as they move with the solid thud of the music. Faintly, over it, Tsukishima can hear Bokuto and Kuroo egging each other on to drink more and more alcohol. A little more distant is the far more mature conversation Shimizu is having with some of the other elder members of Vermin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he can drown those voices out easily with a little more attention towards the way Keiji hums along to the melody, mouth effortlessly shaping around the English words that, even to Tsukishima, are foreign.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Around them, scattered in the mass of bodies, are other members of Vermin, high off endorphins just like they are. Securing yet another influential member of parliament deserves no less than a party like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima grips Keiji's hip and turns him, eyes catching. The tantalising dark green of Keiji's eyes seems darker with the flashing lights flickering red, blue, yellow. Despite being Keiji's for the better part of 4 years, that look is still so all-encompassing. He's learnt to read Keiji through his eyes, and the look he's being given is one that can only be described as lust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji brings his arms up and rests his forearms on Tsukishima's neck, not breaking eye contact as he mouths the dirty English lyrics pounding through the speakers. Tsukishima swallows thickly. He leans in to kiss a mouth that has said everything Tsukishima could ever want to hear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are only millimetres between their lips when the ground shakes violently and the uncomfortably familiar sound of a w-gun firing rips through the party. Tsukishima's first thought is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keiji</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Fuck himself and everyone else. Keiji's the most important person in this club.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Get down," he says, drawing his own w-gun from his back holster. Keiji obliges, squatting low to the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The intruder's w-gun's still smoking a little when they step further into the club, into the neon blue lights that are the only remnants of the party that was in full swing just a few moments prior. They're wearing gang insignia that Tsukishima doesn't recognise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A mask covers the lower half of their face, black apart from two blocky eyes that glow in the club lights. Their jacket, striped and, quite frankly, an eyesore, reminds Tsukishima of the government enforcers from Kyoto.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's not alone in drawing his w-gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Hinata with his gun also drawn. The intruder isn't alone, but they definitely outnumber the relatively small group.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Vermin," the intruder spits, prideful gang name said in disdain. "For too long you have terrorised this part of Tokyo. Your disgraceful ways have influenced other parts of the city and you're seen as heroes in the eyes of the lowlife around these parts."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima can barely contain a snicker. Government-controlled scum think they're so high and mighty because they've gotten praise from the elite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We're here to stop you. Our numbers may be small now, but when the lowlife realise you're no more than a bunch of kids playing god, they'll be rushing to chant our name as we bring peace to Tokyo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The intruder lowers their gun and aims it right beside Tsukishima. He hears Keiji swallow loudly. There’s nothing either of them can do. Tsukishima feels the fear rise into his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We're the Watchers. Don't forget our name."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of the w-gun fills the club again as the shot passes by Tsukishima and grazes Keiji's shoulder, pulling a gasp from him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Son of a-" Tsukishima growls, but before he can pull the trigger the intruders are gone, the only thing left in their wake being an eye painted on the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People become frantic. Tsukishima drops to the ground next to Keiji, assessing the damage to the other boy’s arm. It's not major, but the blood's coming thick and fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm... I'm okay," Keiji mutters, wincing as he shifts his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima is not one to form grudges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he will kill that son of a bitch if it's the last thing he does.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Keiji winces as Tsukishima cleans up the wound on his shoulder. It's nastier than what it looked in the club. The shot from the w-gun has ripped almost a perfect semicircle into his upper arm, narrowly missing his Vermin tattoo. The blood's slowed, but the wound's deep and painful to look at.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's trying not to appear it, but Keiji's obviously in pain. Every hitch of his breath runs a chill down Tsukishima's spine. He hates to see the love of his life in pain because of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Keiji," the syllables slide off his tongue like a prayer. Keiji looks at him through those thick eyelashes, giving a small hum in response. "I'm sorry. I should have protected you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kei, I..." he thinks, "it's not your fault. When I joined the Vermin I knew what I was getting myself into." He gives a small chuckle that gives Tsukishima a rush of joy. "You forget that I made the same decision you did all those years ago."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima can only nod in response. He doesn't have to say more than his actions do. He wraps the wound gently, lovingly; pours all the words of apology into the bandage because he knows he'll never be able to say them. When it's wrapped, all pretty and proper, he presses a kiss just above the bandage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I love you," he mumbles into the skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Love you too, Kei."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world falls away as his mind repeats those words over and over.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Mornings in their flat are about as peaceful as they can be when you have Hinata living there. Not only is the shrimp on his own loud and obnoxious, but the lovers he seems to bring home every other night are never predictable. Sometimes it’s a tall, curly-haired man who seems permanently disgusted with their flat, but most of the time it’s another nameless person that slips out before the sun falls on their face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They wake, as they always do, to Hinata barging into their room with an obnoxiously loud yell of "breakfast!" Tsukishima groans against the skin of Keiji's chest. He's warm and he's comfortable and the last thing he wants is to face the outside world. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If I shoot him, can we go back to sleep?” he asks. Keiji's giggles are the best sounds he will ever hear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji pries himself out of Tsukishima's grasp. He resists, but Keiji is more persistent when it comes to food than Tsukishima is when it comes to cuddling. He doesn’t look it, but Keiji has an appetite big enough to rival Hinata’s. With his personal heater up and about, he forces himself to sit up. The sun is gentle against his skin, far more kind to him than the rest of the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This flat is very much like Tsukishima. Lifeless from the outside, but immeasurably soft on the inside. It's just the three of them living there, and they've shaped the tiny living space to be more than a place to sleep. It's old, in the way it looks. A wooden bed frame matches the bookshelves and desk in Keiji and his bedroom, the floor is a light coloured carpet that they've kept surprisingly clean. On the wall, above the bed frame, is a single strand of fairy lights that glow even when they sleep. They have a few plants, and the tiny tortoise Kageyama gifted them for Tsukishima’s birthday seems content in the corner near the window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's not much, but it's a beautiful sight to wake up to every morning. Especially when Keiji is there in the centre of it all, ethereal as always. He's got perfect curves, defined yet round and gentle - muscle casts soft shadows on his spotless skin as he pulls on a shirt. His hair's usually pitch black, but in this morning sun brown strands almost sparkle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima could indulge in the sight all day - Keiji blessed by natural light - but reality is waiting outside their bedroom door and he can't keep it idle for too long. He wants to, wants to spend the rest of his life hopelessly in love with the mere existence of the man in front of him, but the painful reminder that they’re something bigger lies underneath the stark white bandage on Keiji’s arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands before walking towards Keiji, raising his hand up to rest on his cheek. Keiji leans into the touch, humming, skin warm and soft. Tsukishima goes to reach for a shirt, but a hand stops him. Keiji's eyes dig into his own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima decides he doesn't need a shirt to eat breakfast. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hinata's not a terrible cook, but Tsukishima only trusts him because he's cooking rice and soup. Anything more than that and he'd be giving a definitive no. No one will ever be as bad as Kageyama, the poor boy can’t even boil water without it almost setting on fire, but the shrimp really isn’t much better. They sit around the small table in the middle of their apartment, comfortable silence around them. When you live with people for a few years, small talk ceases to exist. The comfort of the familiar collection of noises from Hinata and the quiet clinking of Keiji’s chopsticks against his bowl tell everything he needs to know. Hinata, despite everything that happened, managed to get laid last night, and Keiji’s hungry from his injury.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji’s shoulder looks painful. He can barely move his arm without wincing, and despite not being able to see the wound Tsukishima knows it’s deep and sore. He presses a gentle kiss into Keiji’s head; reassurance. A small smile is the only acknowledgement he gets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hinata’s devouring his rice, shovelling a family’s worth of the stuff into his mouth, barely chewing before he swallows. He eats about as much as Keiji and Tsukishima combined, and yet still manages to be painfully short. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Shrimp,” Tsukishima grins, “maybe if you chewed your body might be able to make use of all that food you’re eating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hinata snarls, opening his rice-filled mouth to snap back but finds nothing to say. Yet another win for Tsukishima. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they’re all finished with their breakfast, Keiji moves to take their bowls, but a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder stops him in his tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kei I… I can do this, I’m not dying,” he tries to protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to.” Tsukishima takes the bowls from Keiji’s hands. “Go get dressed, alright? I’ll clean up your wound after.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji searches Tsukishima’s eyes but finds nothing. He gives in. Hinata, not reading the room, places his bowl on top of the small pile with a rice-filled grin, saying what Tsukishima can only guess is a ‘thank you’ through a mouth full of food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water pressure in their apartment is the thing Tsukishima hates the most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, you piece of shit!” He growls, slamming the tap as the water spurts without consistency. In protest, the water decides to stop completely. If he hadn’t learnt self-discipline, the tap would be completely out of its socket by now. Lucky for the hunk of metal, Tsukishima had learnt not everything can be won with violence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He admits defeat, leaving the stack of dishes ever-growing on the counter. Maybe tomorrow things will go his way. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The best part of Tsukishima’s day is the 15-minute journey from their apartment to the Vermin hideout. He bought a hoverboard a few years ago, got it registered, and has used it every day since. He stands at the front, while Keiji remains adamant that he’s only safe if he’s squeezing the life out of Tsukishima. Hinata has his own hoverboard, but his style is more the disgustingly happy neon green wheelers he bought from a thrift shop a year or so ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wheelers are something that Tsukishima would, without question, ban from planet Earth if he had the chance. They’re essentially glorified boots that have obnoxiously big wedges and wheels. A solid hit of the heel against a wall or curb will pop the wheels into position for gliding through the streets, a hit to the toe will wedge them underneath the shoe in the 2-inch gap between it and the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hinata’s are the newest model, quick and slick and the most disgusting colour Tsukishima’s eyes have had the misfortune of seeing. The actual shoe bit is neon green, the wedge on the heel and toe black, and the wheels a glowing neon orange that goes into party mode when it gets too dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The worst bit? It makes Hinata feel tall. Absolutely disgusting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima twists and turns along the hoverboard tracks that line the roads in Tokyo with practised ease. He could get pretty much anywhere in the district with his eyes closed if he really wanted to. The lack of cars means that most roads are hoverboard highways now, with fast lanes and slow lanes. Tsukishima likes the fast life, just to freak Keiji out. The more nervous Keiji is, the tighter he holds on. Win-win. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sees some fellow Vermin on the other tracks, making light conversation and munching down on rice balls they bought from the little stalls around the district. He waves. They give a bow of their heads in return. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While he is well versed in the area, Keiji still isn’t. He always jumps when they swerve into the hoverboard parking bays out the front of the Vermin den, heart pounding against Tsukishima’s back. Hinata sidles up beside them, toeing the ground and sinking back onto his regular shoes. Tsukishima locks up the hoverboard - turning off its hovering capability and settling it into the ground where it’ll stay - and looks up at the building front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hinata pulls out three smokes from his back pocket. Tsukishima takes two, placing one in Keiji’s mouth and the other in his own. Keiji lights their smokes with refined ease that comes from smoking for most of his life. The stress that builds up in the mornings wash away when the smoke settles in his chest. A little finds its way into the polluted air. Slowly but surely, Tsukishima knows, the air in his lungs will be no better than the air in the grey and lifeless sky. But he also knows that he is not long for this world. People like him, like Keiji, like Hinata, they’re snuffed out like lights at sunrise and the world does not stop to mourn them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shall we?” He asks when the flames take one final gasp of air before being squashed under Hinata’s disgusting shoes. The others nod. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they step into the hideout, Keiji is hounded by pretty much everyone. It’s been a while since anyone’s been shot, and even longer since anyone has been shot off duty. The voices get louder and louder - begging to be heard. A choir out of synch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A voice speaks, and the choir falls silent. Shimizu steps through the crowd with ease, stopping only when she can make out the emotion on Keiji’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright after last night? We were all worried about you.” Her voice feels like silk against Tsukishima’s skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay, yeah. It’s just a little scratch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collectively, the room releases the tension building up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone coming onto their turf and hurting one of their people was a painful reminder that the forces they are meddling with are real. This isn’t a game, never has been, but Tsukishima knows what it’s like to think being part of the Vermin is nothing more than a joke.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shimizu has been part of the Vermin far longer than anyone else Tsukishima speaks to. She essentially runs the whole thing, coordinating the leaders, whom no one has ever met, and their loyal followers. Her word is that of a god’s, a message to be followed. What she says goes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The leaders are concerned for the safety of our organisation,” she says to the crowd, “this is the first time in a long time that we’ve had our ground trodden on by government scum. Every action from now on must be planned, coordinated. Risks must be reduced. Gang insignia, for your safety, should no longer be worn in spaces not under our control.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd bursts into discussion. This was to be expected, but for it to come out of Shimizu’s mouth is a bit of a shock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima has pretty much lived in his Vermin jumper for the last 4 years or so, maybe longer. A young kid with no family, no friends apart from someone who had to hastily move out of Tokyo, and enough credentials behind his name to get a job most places. The front of the old Vermin hideout was a little computer shop a dozen or so blocks from the current one - in a state of disrepair expected of the little corner of Tokyo, it was nestled away in. He’d stumbled in; hungry, cold, looking for a place to earn a few quick yen so he could find somewhere to stay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji was working at the counter that night, lollipop in his mouth as a substitute for a cigarette, and Tsukishima, poor, gay Tsukishima, almost tripped over his own lanky legs and fell flat on his face right in front of the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes upon. He seemed uninterested, barely even giving a nod to acknowledge Tsukishima’s presence, but he led him to the back room. He had half a mind to ask what kind of business they were running, but he shut his mouth when the boy opened the old wooden door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man was there. Tsukishima never learnt his name. He was shorter than Tsukishima, a cigarette, an old one at that, hanging out of his mouth and a look in his eyes that told tales Tsukishima did not yet understand. His hair was a dirty blonde, pulled back into a slick ponytail, threatening to yank the mop off his head. His grandfather, or so he said, was one of the founding members of the Vermin, an organisation that at that stage Tsukishima had only heard of in back streets and muttered under people’s breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei, at the age of 15, was smart enough to know that gangs and rebellion weren’t the safest of lifestyles. But with the promise of a place to stay and the boy out front’s stare stuck in his head, he said yes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being a part of the Vermin was something Tsukishima learnt to love. His brains and his skill with computers had earned him respect quickly, but a tentative friend of his, Kuroo, brought in a mousey boy who controlled computers like servants and wasn’t snarky and disruptive like him, so he lost his place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still chasing Keiji around then; young and completely in love with a boy who’d never even said his name, and it was some sort of game they both played that no one else knew the rules to. Keiji - Akaashi then - would go about his everyday business, and Tsukishima would follow him around and make snarky comments just to see the smile in his eyes. If Tsukishima could get the other boy to laugh, even just a little giggle, they’d go on a date. It was a pact they’d made one night, in their shared room, and Tsukishima didn’t plan on giving up. He needed the affirmation of his worth more than anything. Needed a reminder that Yamaguchi Tadashi was not the only person who would ever handle his presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took Tsukishima 4 months, 23 days, and 11 hours to make Keiji giggle. They were out at lunch in some run-down ramen shop, all squished into a tiny booth that was painfully hard to sit on. There were five of them in what should have only been a seat for three; Keiji, Hinata, Kageyama, himself, and one of Keiji’s non-Vermin friends Bokuto. The latter and Hinata, both rambunctious and annoying, were engaged in a costly competition of eating the most ramen in the shortest time possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After his fifth bowl, the big idiot started complaining of stomach pains. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“I think,” he groaned, cowering over and clutching his stomach, “I think I ate too much.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“I told you,” Akaashi scolded, showing only the slightest bit of concern for his older friend.</span> <span>Tsukishima said something snarky - something so unimportant at the time he said it - and yet Akaashi finally lost his resolve. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once the giggle came out - barely audible over the slurping of the other three boys at the table - they shared a short, silent look. Tsukishima had to use everything in his power to keep his head from going red as a tomato. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsukishima,” Akaashi gave a short nod in acknowledgement. The rest had left them alone under the flickering lights of the city, a microcosm of the universe they barely had time to acknowledge. Tsukishima’s hands shook and he bounced on his feet, swallowing the discomfort that engulfed them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s this arcade, some old joint not too far from here. I’ve never been but my friend says it’s good.” He tried to hide his anxiety with disinterest but he knew, they both did, that Akaashi had already got him worked out and wrapped around his little finger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Surprised you have any friends to ask for ideas.” He smirked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was very lucky to be gorgeous, or else he might have suffered a wack to the head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walk was a little more comfortable, Akaashi glided along on his old wheelers, pointed out tucked-away restaurants that serve the best food he’s ever eaten. Tsukishima stored them all for later dates. A boy could dream. This was nice, Tsukishima thought. Just the two of them, doing whatever they wanted. When they got to the arcade, Akaashi tapped in his wheelers and they walked into the small arcade that looks like it came straight out of the 80s. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>1980s</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The 2080s were a little more…. slick, than this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One wall was lined with all the best new technology - holograms, all that jazz - and the other covered with clunky old boxes as tall as Akaashi, screens no bigger than an outdated computer and graphics lower in resolution than anything Tsukishima had ever worked with. The whole inside of the building was decked out with shitty patterns, the carpet’s old enough to have lived through the last few wars, and considering the number of stains, it’d seen its fair share of local scuffles too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima looked over at Akaashi, the reflection of the bleak lighting in his eyes, and he was reminded of just how much those eyes show. Akaashi’s eyes gleamed, wide and jotting around at just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> there was to see. Tsukishima wanted to kiss him right there. But he had resolve, if only a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Akaashi walked over to the massive pinball machine that took up a large space on the retro wall, its components old and janky but with enough novelty behind those jolts to be endearing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” he reached for his back pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled out a few coins and delicately pushed them into the slot, the smallest of smiles on his face as the machine whirred to life with music and lights and sound effects. It was cheesy and Tsukishima had half a mind to hate it. His thumbs rested on the buttons, and just like that the entirety of both of their attentions was sucked into the hunk of metal in front of them. It was almost addicting, watching the numbers tick up as Akaashi knocked the balls up and up and back up again. When they finally fell into the abyss of the bottom of the machine, he cracked his knuckles as if he’d just won a fistfight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Man, Tsukishima was in love and he’d not yet learnt Akaashi’s given name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed at the arcade until long after the sun had set and the owner was beginning to look impatient. Akaashi cashed in his massive stack of tickets, winning a nice-looking figurine that had one of the higher ticket requirements. Tsukishima, though successful, only managed to cash in his tickets for a meagre owl plushie. It looked like Akaashi, eyes wide to the world and a face that showed no expression. It was cute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here.” He held it out close to Akaashi’s face, “take it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Akaashi’s eyes lit up, the neon lights above them reflected. A hand tentatively reached up to grab the plushie, fingers brushing Tsukishima’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima smiled, small but genuine. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They held hands the rest of the way home, Akaashi gripping the plushie like he was going to lose it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even now, that plushie still sat above their bedhead, a little old and a little frail, but still there. Keiji doesn’t let him forget it. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting up the next day and not putting his Vermin jacket on felt uncomfortable to Tsukishima. He felt naked without its weight on his shoulders, gentle and something he’d become accustomed to. He leaves it in between Keiji’s and Hinata’s on the coat rack by the door, instead pulling on one of Keiji’s bigger hoodies and digging his hands into the pockets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the way to the base, Keiji’s hands sneak around his waist and find his own in the too-big pockets, a warm haven protected from the startling cold that has settled over Tokyo. Every time they turn a corner, Keiji sucks in a breath, the movement tensing his injured shoulder more than it can handle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima reminds himself to fix the dressing when they get to headquarters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like last time, the Vermin hideout is full of associates, waiting with almost fearful anticipation for Shimizu to step out and speak. The anger from yesterday, painful and raw, has subsided, at least for the most part. People now worry about what the future will hold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, someone speaks, but it isn’t Shimizu. It is someone Tsukishima recognises, back from that first time seeing Keiji, someone he believed he would never see again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hair is shorter, and darker, but the cigarette is still old and his eyes still tell stories Tsukishima will never understand. A gasp settles over the crowd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vermin,” his voice projects much further than they are used to, “we are under threat. One of our ranks, someone who has been with us for much longer than most of you, was shot in one of our venues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shimizu spoke yesterday of our need to go underground, that much is still the same. But just because we are underground does not mean we will be silent, does not mean we will be forgotten. We will fight for our spot, our control over this district, until we fall." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd cheers, loud and rambunctious, and Keiji cheers with them. After, when the crowd has returned to its usual, messy state, Shimizu approaches them, one hand in her hip pocket, the other by her side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tsukishima-kun, Akaashi-kun,” she nods. They nod in return. “You need to come with me. Ukai-san would like to speak with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keiji’s eyes blow wide, “are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shimizu only turns on her heel, sharp and definite, and begins to walk back into the crowd, getting lost amongst the sea of people. They follow. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ukai-san is a man that has an aura to him. He’s older, maybe twice Keiji’s age, and has an air around him that demands respect. Much like all those years ago, a tobacco cigarette hangs from his mouth, drooling smoke into the small space. He is relaxed, far more relaxed than Tsukishima would expect of a leader of the Vermin, but he knows better than to let his guard down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir,” he bows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ukai-san,” Keiji copies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honorifics are not needed, Keiji. You know me well enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keiji nods, “Ukai. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too. How’s your arm holding up? I heard it got blasted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji looks to his shoulder, pain in his eyes but no expression on his face. “It’s okay, it could be better. Kei here patched it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ukai-san grins towards Tsukishima. “Well then, I suppose I have to offer you my thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Tsukishima asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keiji, have you not told him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keiji shook his head, turning towards Tsukishima. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… Ukai brought me in, years ago. Gave me a place to sleep. I was like you, alone in a big city when he found me. I was tired and scared and he gave me a roof over my head and enough food to keep me going in return for helping recruit, well, people like us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the most Tsukishima’s ever heard his boyfriend speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The computer store you worked at, it was a recruitment station?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keiji nods. “Got quite a few young recruits from just standing there and looking pretty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ukai-san laughs, smoke billowing from his lungs. “You grew into quite the nice-looking young man, Keiji. Much better than I ever looked when I was your age.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keiji nods, cheeks a dusty pink.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Now, on to more important matters,” Ukai says, puffing a breath of smoke into the air, “you both have been working for the Vermin for a long time, and have good track records. You’ve consistently pulled off good raids, and don’t have a single kill between you. Obviously, we will not go quietly into the night. We have lasted this long, and some whiny youngsters with sticks up their asses won’t dissuade us that easily.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What are you saying?” Tsukishima interjects, “you want us on some elite Vermin task force?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Weeks later, they find themselves on the roof of a building overlooking the city. The neon lights illuminate Keiji’s face, curving around his jaw and cheekbones, settling in the other boy’s mop of hair much the same as Tsukishima’s hand. They’ve been kissing for a while, allowing themselves the pleasure of indulgence amongst everything else in their lives. It has been hectic, as of late, between carrying out their normal expectations and slowly tearing the Watchers limb from limb. Tsukishima feels guilt, deep down, for trying to continue on with normality when Keiji has still not fully healed; his arm is scarring nicely but is still painted pink. But Keiji has kissed that guilt away, pushed it from Tsukishima’s thoughts, and for that he is grateful. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tsukishima looks out at the city, leaning to rest his head on Keiji’s good shoulder. Their hands interlock.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What happens when it happens again?” Tsukishima asks.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“When what happens again?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“When you get hurt and I can’t help you. When our… when our desperate decisions finally catch up to us.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Keiji squeezes his hand, rubs his thumb against a scar formed years ago, “maybe it will happen, maybe it won’t. But you have me now, and I have you. All we can do is indulge in each other while we’re both still here.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>Tsukishima takes a shaky breath of cold air, feels it get caught in the grime lodged in his lungs.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span>“I love you, Keiji.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A pause. A breath. A lifetime of affection shortened into a tiny moment of shared existence. “I love you too, Kei.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you so much for reading! this is my longest fic to date, and i fully intended to make it longer. my original guess was about 7.5k to 10k words, but after the events of this year i had to cut it down to something a bit more manageable. it was super fun working on this project, and i have a few more coming up very soon, so i'm excited to share them</p><p>a few notes:<br/>- the man hinata keeps bringing home is sakusa, but i didn't want to tag the relationship because it's not really relevant<br/>- they are all adults (in their early to mid-twenties) in this fic<br/>- the name vermin came from the idea of crows/stray cats </p><p>as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, and feel free to chat to me about haikyuu on twitter @ ollie_declan</p></blockquote></div></div>
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